Best Fluently Poems
The one who doubts his own doubts
is like counting snowflakes in a snowstorm
Remember to thank for health and luck,
see everything in a slightly larger perspective
And speak the language of poetry fluently
We are all the same seed of life
Reason and dreams of lily of the valley
On a meadow ... a secret of unseen little surprise
... the sweetest mouse on earth
When the evening comes and everyone goes to rest
sleep well in your fluffy bed
Don't fear the wind
it will be as smooth as your breath
Under a sky full of stars
Tomorrow you can fly ... you're free
29.05.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poem of the Day: 30/05/2019
Categories:
fluently, cheer up,
Form:
Free verse
The girl is an ultra-modern scholar,
Belongs with an upper-middle class family.
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly.
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University.
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare,
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket.
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....
The girl is very good.
The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...
The boy is very good.
They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his.
They are changing silently
Losing individuality.
Time flows.
Love goes to another address...
Categories:
fluently, culture, deep, emotions, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Beneath his coal-black forelocks, flirty eyes
kept meeting mine when I allowed my gaze
to fall on him. As if I were a prize,
he grinned at me. He'd put me in a daze!
When he approached, my heart began to pound.
He spoke so fluently, and his accent
was French! I'd never heard a sweeter sound.
He asked me on a date. Of course I went!
We chatted in a cafe as we ate.
Inside the core of me, a longing grew.
then as he drove me home, I could not wait
for what I knew would very soon ensue!
Once parked, he turned to me, eyes deep and tender,
and all that I could do was to surrender.
Dedicated to my indelible memory: Guy Loranger, wherever he may be.
Written Aug, 9, 2016 for
Becca Teagan's All I could do was surrender - Shakespearean Sonnet
Categories:
fluently, first love,
Form:
Sonnet
I could care less about the four
corners of insults,
That intelligence invites;
It is always the first straw of
grass that’s grows,
which reveals the popular outcast;
As a youth, I found my image cut down
into this manufactured silhouette.
Drenched in social rain, my peers
had never found me more alienated,
Then when I spoke fluently of diverse
topics;
They did everything in their power to provide
a verbal umbrella,
However, the texture remains weak and
defeated.
This stormy parade that remains’ dripping is
indeed an afterthought,
For within this cranial mansion resides
additional rooms,
For the more abstract and surreal
elements of life;
It is that secluded gland which reveals
the renaissance of men, who wear
infinite Fedoras.
Now wearing the shoes of a young
man,
A taste of charisma resides in my
veins;
However this slight addiction to external
haze,
Comes in second to my first drug of
choice: Wisdom.
Membership into this fraternity may take a lifetime;
So don’t be surprised when resistance
knocks at your door,
Intimidated by the lion that dwells within
your temple;
Indeed intellect is the misunderstood
fruit,
That blossoms sweeter when accepted.
Categories:
fluently, allegory, childhood, children, courage,
Form:
Free verse
"We chase unreachable heights, in the hope to find happiness,
Only to find we are still the same, because in fact we are chasing ourselves."
(Triggered and inspired by a conversation this morning between Arthur Vaso and myself)
I have crashed many times over the past five years. Many, many times before realising I was chasing my own tail.
Does this mean that I don't crash anymore? On the contrary. I came back last week from a three-week stay in a mental hospital. Oh, I crash and when I do, I do it good and hard. Rock bottom, here I come.
Then what?
Realization is just a first step. It can also be the first hurdle, the one you never get over, that one that you will see in the distance and that becomes so BIG when you come near it, that it seems it will swallow you whole.
It's a first baby step.
What is unreachable? That is a first question everyone needs to answer for themselves. It's different for everyone, but we all share this: if we don't realize we are chasing a phantom, or our own tail, we will end up bitter and frustrated.
Unreachable for me (to make it less abstract) is:
- walking;
- playing the violin again;
- dancing again;
- speaking fluently;
- not feeling lonely;
- setting goals that jeopardize my mental and physical health.
Up until recently I tried to achieve the impossible by trying to reach every one of these goals. Seeing this list I think that everyone who knows me realizes that it's a list that is setting me up for failure. And I finally agree.
I used to try and aim for the impossible. And I admit it still feels a little like defeat by admitting I can never reach these goals. It made me deeply depressed at first, almost suicidal. But I am slowly learning to set new goals, little steps, small things that make me not only happy, but also proud of myself.
Like writing poems, alone or together with the marvellous poets I met here in Soup and among my other friends. Or finding out what fun sports are available in a wheelchair when you also have limited use of your arms. Or finding friends, even though my loneliness is innate (also something I needed to learn to accept.)
I still chase myself. But I set the reachable goal now that I finally found the truth: I am aiming for acceptance of self.
Comments and discussion greatly appreciated.
***
January 22, 2017
Categories:
fluently, depression, destiny, inspiration, life,
Form:
Narrative
As I paddled the river Nile
I met a monstrous crocodile.
She smiled at me enticingly.
I smiled deferentially.
Through large white teeth to me she said,
"I want you in my river bed."
"We are not acquainted enough
for such intimate, tasteless stuff,"
I cried. A hippopotamus
opined, "Hey, we're amphibious.
We're inclined to romp through marshes;
come, let's crush some reedy rushes."
I paddled hard away. The Nile
now swirled by rapidly awhile
to the sea. There where its two brinks
grow apart it flows past a sphinx
who lies prone and thinks endlessly
deep thoughts about eternity.
For eons and eons his mind
thought thoughts about how to unbind
gravity from mentality
throughout universality,
that we might freely float;
no more need to paddle my boat.
Unfortunately, he has no gumption
to follow his least assumption;
but we do chat on fluently
of, to wit, stuff way beyond me
like hieroglyphic-ally writ
papyri. When he will not quit
I wander alone to a tomb
where lies Cleopatra, of whom
each schoolgirl knows; how her last gasp
came as she clasped to breast her asp.
Grasp that story's significance
twixt geometry class and dance.
Whilst she patronymic-ally
reigned, a most royal Ptolemy;
she told Marc, "My new last 'nym' now'll
be 'Anthony'." This, post her roll
out, quite nude, from Julius' rug.
His offer of sex met her mere shrug.
I stood amid a pyramid
or three and pondered where they hid,
these pharaohs, all their treasury.
Was power or mere pleasury
their true architectural plan?
To ever tell, no pharaoh can.
These writs I write as my boat drifts
midst original hieroglyphs
through the Mediterranean.
I don't need a librarian
to see, no sociology
compares to Egyptology.
Categories:
fluently, adventure, funny, me, me,
Form:
Light Verse
CENSORSHIP
There is a language I spoke and I knew.
It fluently told it's stories in dance.
Graceful chaînes that turned our spirits out
and razor sissones to cut with candor.
There is a light song I willingly played.
My fingers glissade, ran, courir, en croix,
rapidly crossing the tired yellow keys.
There is a bleached canvas white with nothing!
The brush has eyes. It's clever at seeing,
tout va bien, and always without me.
It tells me what is beneath the linen,
a textured story in shape and color.
There are no jagged edges in assemblé.
The poetry, un mot, could keep the time
on paper. It knew dimensions, of four,
in every breath. It saw the frozen rose.
It sprinkled stories of death or exploded
in dimples of joy. It holds my hand and tells on me.
A firefly in bourrée is silenced from the play.
By Edlynn Nau
October 8, 2016
Categories:
fluently, angst, art, music, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
The depth of my intensity is unfathomed and unknown
I mutter a million tongues in a million different tones
Unleashing my mind, I spew prolific poetry
Draw a wedge in your subconscious, like I’m parting the Red Sea.
I can speak into your mirror and distort your reflection
Rebuff the remnants of denial and rejection
I use dictionaries as pillows to absorb the definition
The creations of my mind fluently brought into fruition
Regurgitating rhythmical rhetorical reasoning
Metrically mingled in metaphorical meaning
I launch lyrics like missile’s launch rockets
Targeting your soundness i devour your logic
my thoughts slash deeper than even the third eye can see
Double edged sword, assured to bring you to your knees
Shake your composure like the clashing of clouds
Words once whispered, are now boisterous and loud
Ink embedded with Solomon’s wisdom, David anointed my pen
Possessed with spirits of the most high, stirring within.
I resurrected my resilience and recaptured my breath
These rhymes will live a thousand lives but never die a single death
Categories:
fluently, slam,
Form:
Free verse
Spilling verses
as if they were a life line
Thinly hanging on
In air
Hoping they go
Somewhere
Reaching
Teaching
If not Preaching
A truth
To life
Giving meaning to
Always becoming a path
To our feet
Defying mere physics
Like walking on water.
Inking my way past
Adversity, while attempting to hold onto
Sanity in the midst of human travesty
Man made catastrophes by ego's
Pride.
Let it be so and so
Traveling words
More thunderous
Than dreams do allow
Spilling soul and fire
Flaming paths of
Prayer into the
Ether
Burning insence
Catching the nostrils
Of God Himself or Herself
Raising attention to
Angels and Demons
Hear I am
Here we are
Racing time, in attempts
To move mountains from here to there
On Ledges where
Death no longer Stands,
But stanza and sonnet command
Life is Eternal from mouth to
Hand
Affirming Our Generation
As a Genesis without Nemesis.
Reflecting in the
Mirror dimly is
Me,
a word
The world has known
Thee a time or two
Casting spells
In rhyme and form
Where logos fluidly
And fluently
Speaks to Universe
And Word, Faithfully
Becomes Will
9x's and
The poet's verses
Declare projected
Prophecies.
Thus the word is done
From soul
With the power
Of Divine Expectations
Mystical ,but clear to
Listening Ears
Piercing bone and marrow
Awakening what was once feeble
In many.
May we now speak
With the tongues of Gods
Into unknown tomorrows
Beautiful Order Words
Into a world filled
With The Hope of Love
A solid fruition
Human Ascension
Into never ending Light
As plain as sight beyond sight.
Kevin Guru©2017
The Power of Words
Categories:
fluently, analogy, art, beautiful, beauty,
Form:
Prose Poetry
north by northen
they live in villages of 8 to 10 people,
dont pay rent and make art out of multi
colored buttons and old bent tire rims.
they have warm smiles and icicle
beards that hang down in a
furrowed eccentric mess.
they are eskimos that write with
red ball point pens and speak french
fluently. except when they slip on the
ice they may curse and cry.
thier tears freeze into crystal cathedrals
with paintings of redemption
hanging along its walls.
they redeem us all.
Categories:
fluently,
Form:
‘Tis many days since I have joined this cyber family,
some even say my old poems suck, to that I may agree.
I struggled then to free my muse to speak more fluently;
What got me through, an eager heart to learn with constancy.
As I reached out with every poem they welcomed me like most
kindhearted ones that read my page and leave comments on posts.
I do believe without these men and women who comment
I would have stopped posting the poems, full of angst and lament.
They all are there, day in, day out, my cyber family.
Some are parents, brothers, sisters, some are still like babies
We laugh, we cry, we disagree but make up the next day,
send notes to friends when they’re absent and then for them we pray.
Though now I still am far from great this thing I learned, I’ll share:
People will care ‘about what you think when they think that you care.
Allow me then to say my thanks, my deep appreciation
For stopping by, for your replies and all the inspiration.
21 July 2015
My Cyber Family Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
image credit: gbb.org
Categories:
fluently, community, dedication, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
Jesse Evans and The Boys earned much notoriety
during the old west's most untamed and wild history.
Raiding resturants and salloons they would drink and eat for free.
"Chalk it up!" they'd say to all of the merchants before they'd leave,
and riding along with them was one William H Bonney,
known as William Antrim formerly
and speaking Spanish fluently.
Three months earlier he was but a young boy of fifteen,
orphaned, scared, alone and in desperate need.
Now he was holding his own among outlaw killers and theives.
Such a feat for a small young boy of his stature wasn't easily achieved.
He was a prime target for this dangerous gang of thug bullies
who would often abuse him, make fun of and tease.
The kid was forced to face a very hard reality.
He could just take it and be miserable, or he could leave,
or show them all that he was a force to be respected and taken seriously.
He began practicing his shooting skills regularly,
hitting his target everytime and with lightening speed.
On his horse he would shoot at anything and everything,
whether he was stationary or whether he was moving
from every single possible concievable position
and always hit his target with such accurate precision.
Once for fun one outlaw shot the kid's hat off of his head.
The kid returned fire shooting the hat off of the outlaw's head.
Holding his pistol trained on his intended, the kid coldly said,
"I could kill you right now. I could kill you dead,
but I'm hungry and I would rather eat instead."
The kid returned to his meal and nothing more was done or said.
His message was crystal clear; Respect Me Or You're Dead
and from that moment on, respect him they all did.
Jesse Evans and The Boys now all took very seriously this Billy, this kid.
Categories:
fluently, history,
Form:
Rhyme
I set sight on visions
Picture little if visions
Matter ,i paint a photo
To vision my pictures
My vision has lost it way to my tongue
I speak what I see,visualise or better yet picture
My vision set scenes like am Picasso
As I speak out my words in a Pablo
More or less a parable of my words painting
A vision of Picasso ,a pain tainting
Is it a beautiful vision that i now draw
Sharp words sketching fine black &white
Lines of how the vision begins
Curves and edges on how
I flip and toss these metaphors
And I colour the corners of my visualised picture
With idioms and shade it with similes
As it is similar to the photo of my vision
I speak fluently with coloured thoughts
Penciled on my incomplete picture
As I have my vision destroyed
For I set sight on visions
Picture little if visions
Matter,as I have less of a picture
More of a photo
Photo my visions
Picture my visions
Spoke of my visions
Frame my visions with
Synonyms, antonyms
Or shorten my picture with acronyms
Then the picture becomes and is less of a vision
The absence of words paints an empty picture
Words as powerful , dreams as wonderful
Actions performed, as visions are destroyed
destructed and demolished
Words conquer, visions follow
I set sight on visions
Picture little if visions
Matter, i paint a photo
To vision my picture
Without these words I can not paint my visions.
Categories:
fluently, appreciation, beautiful, philosophy, poetry,
Form:
Epic
A Hummingbird
I’m like the breeze blowing light across the world
Just take a look at me, I may resemble a hummingbird
My little fluttering wings, sings so fluently with sweetness so fair
Cannot you visualize I may be seen as a fresh breath of air
If you could see the swelling of my beauty of breast, they’re lavish colored feathers
Singing to our loved parents their vibrant colors which ours or lightened feathers
I’m like the breeze blowing light across the world
Just take a look at me, I may resemble a hummingbird.
Written: Aug. 21, 2015
Categories:
fluently, beauty, bird,
Form:
Couplet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE FLAUTIST ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE FLAUTIST fluently flaunted her flute- Music flew faultlessly through the airwaves, flying fluidly above the noise of the blustering city
THE flautist created a calm fragrance, who's flavor of creativity fell-well onto your soul creating a soul stirring calmness across the city.
She played her flute clean into the night vehemently, over the feverish chaos –
And the people in the park and in the city could hear clearly as they walked in rhythmic tunes/ She flaunted her music like sweet low hanging fruit, Her music dangled beautiful and singly. She alone, Solo-ed notes of delightful serenity-
The flautist moved the masses to a state of bliss; Like free kisses flying in the wind landing on ears conquering and engaging spirits, conquering pandemonium with her flute, she blew her flute... SHE BLEW HER FLUTE, and we marched and listened obediently. She blew her flute and we marched magnificently to her concert.
Categories:
fluently, appreciation, art, beautiful, blessing,
Form:
Prose Poetry